


Disciplinary Measures

by Dulin



Category: Weiss Kreuz
Genre: M/M, One-Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-20
Updated: 2009-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-02 08:08:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulin/pseuds/Dulin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosenkreuz fic. Schuldig gets punished. Crawford gets back.</p><p>Mind rape and abuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disciplinary Measures

**Author's Note:**

> I’m on a roll ! So sue me. I just can’t stop writing those now that I have started. People who are to blame for it, you know who you are.

“What did he do this time ?”

The isolation quarter was, ironically, one of the most modern and brightly lit building of the whole school compound. No expense had been spared on it. It did not matter that regular students who did not make a habit of breaking the rules slept eight to a room because renovating the dorms was never as high a priority as keeping everyone in line.

“I do not think that you need concern yourself with such matters now, Mr. Crawford,” the disciplinary officer said, sounding far too amused by the situation. In fact, the officer was so absorbed in the sound of his boots martially hitting the floor that it took him a few more steps to realize that Crawford had stopped dead in his tracks to clean his glasses.

The officer had never worn glasses in his life. He did not know what kind of maintenance they required. If he had known, he would have noticed that Crawford’s glasses were as immaculate as they could ever be when he had entered the building, and that it was unlikely that they could have gathered enough dirt to require immediate attention between the door and the particular spot where their owner was now standing.

Which meant that Crawford could polish his glasses into next week, and the cretin would be forced to wait for him until he was done.

“I do understand that until Schuldig has been officially cleared for field operations, he technically remains under the school’s authority,” the precog said as he methodically chased non-existent dust. “However, I am his team leader. According to standard procedure, I should have been notified of his offense and subsequent punishment the moment he was led here.”

The officer shrugged.

“I am quite sure that this is a simple miscommunication problem, Mr. Crawford.”

Crawford did not rise to the bait. Miscommunication problems always seemed to happen when Schuldig was in residence, for some reason. Not that Crawford did not believe that Schuldig deserved punishment for _something_. Yet, he had apparently been delusional enough to believe that disciplinary officers would be above petty bullying, given that they pretty much had the right to do anything they damn well pleased with the students left in their care, with blessings from the school’s administration. Sadism at its most institutionalized.

Clearly, Crawford had been wrong. And, unfortunately for the booted officer, Crawford had never considered himself to be above petty bullying. As such, the precog took great delight in checking that his glasses were spotless under one of the glaring lights, before taking an excruciatingly long time to fold his handkerchief and return it to his pocket.

“You should watch your step today, officer,” he said in a pleasant tone. “It has been raining quite a lot in the last three days. Now shall we ?”

****

The cell was standard, like everything else in the building. A square space of ten meters by ten with a cot and an in-built shower and toilet unit that gave a whole new sense to the word ‘privacy’, if such a notion had ever entered the mind of those who had designed the place. The only opening in the walls was the grid of the closed ventilation circuit.

The Inhibitor in her light gray pin-striped lady suit briefly looked up from her book when the door slid open. She made no move to leave the room, sipping coffee from the mug on the table next to her and going back to her reading as if nothing was happening.

Schuldig was huddled against the wall, as far away from the Inhibitor as he could get. His fingers were tangled in his hair, tensing spasmodically from time to time, red strands plastered to his face by sweat. He was shivering so violently, barely covered as he was by the too flimsy gray hospital-like pajamas, that Crawford was sure he could hear the telepath’s teeth chattering even from where he was.

The change in luminosity was enough to make Schuldig raise his head slightly. His pupils were so dilated that it was doubtful whether he could actually see anything, yet his eyes carefully avoided the place where he knew the Inhibitor was sitting as he very slowly turned around to glare in the door’s general direction.

“I will take care of things from here,” Crawford said.

The cot had not been used at all and god only knew when the food tray that had finished its career as a mural had been brought in. Quite a while ago, if the color was anything to go by.

Schuldig whimpered when he felt someone coming closer, and his hands went back to tugging at his hair, nails clawing the already torn skin at his temples.

“I will take care of things from here, _officer_,” Crawford said again.

A wave from the officer’s hand, and the Inhibitor closed her book with a little clap, picked up her still half full coffee mug, and went out of the room without a look back.

“Happy now, Mr. Crawford ?”

“Ecstatic.”

Schuldig cringed and gave a start at the first brush of Crawford’s fingers on his wrists. Every muscle in his body tensed up, ready to strike out at the first threatening move, and he resisted with unsuspected strength when Crawford tried to untangle the bloodied fingers from the matted hair.

“Schu ? It’s me …”

Being an exceptionally gifted telepath made Schuldig’s reaction to Inhibition totally unpredictable. Crawford had tried to time the different phases of his recovery, but to no avail. While the phases themselves always occurred more or less in the same order, as they did for any kind of psychic Talent, their length and intensity varied greatly with no apparent link whatsoever to the duration of the punishment itself. Crawford had come to suspect that the lack of pattern came from Schuldig’s conditioning, and that it had been implanted on purpose, as an additional control tool.

Crawford’s shoulders were aching by the time he managed to pry Schuldig’s hands away from his head. The telepath was slowly losing his fight against exhaustion, but that did not mean that he was any less dangerous. He would rely purely on instinct as long as he would be blinded by his own body’s reaction to the Inhibition, and there was not much that Crawford could do about it except trying to prevent Schuldig from further hurting himself, and trying not to get harmed in the process as well.

Crawford knew that the damage on Schuldig’s body was self-inflicted, but the extent of it surprised him every single time. There was no use in punishing a telepath with physical violence, if only because it could not compare with what they were capable of doing to themselves when you cut them off from their ability.

The dehydration and weight loss were going to be the most urgent problems, but also the most easily treatable. The throat wounds would, as usual, prove trickier, but screaming themselves hoarse was a defense mechanism that telepaths were unable to overcome, when the emptiness and silence in their heads threatened to overwhelm them. The nosebleeds, like the dilated pupils, were telltale signs of mental pain, and nothing but time could take care of that. Time and watchful care. Time that Crawford was never sure that he had, but gave anyway.

Of course, this might have been easier without the officer breathing down his neck and all but creaming his pants at the sight.

It took Crawford by surprise, as always. One minute Schuldig’s body was coiled like a spring, so hard that Crawford was sure no one could make him move a limb short of breaking a bone, and the next he was suddenly clinging to Crawford’s shirt as if it were his lifeline.

“Brad ?”

Schuldig’s voice was barely above a whisper, and this single word triggered a wheezing fit of coughing that ended in retching.

“I’m right here.”

If there was one thing that a human body was not supposed to ingest in big quantities, it was blood, and Schuldig had swallowed far too much of it in the last week, and on an empty stomach, to boot. The violence of the spasms didn’t come as a surprise, but it was enough to rob Schuldig of what little strength he had left. Crawford felt him going limp and made sure to keep him in a sitting position so that he would not choke on what little came up.

The disciplinary officer ostensibly used his handkerchief to shield his nose and mouth when Schuldig spat out a mix of bile and old, almost black blood, but he took a step closer.

“My, my, they really did a number on him this time, didn’t they ?”

The next mouthful of bile landed on the officer’s shiny boots. The man let out a strangled shriek of indignation.

“How dare you !”

“I swear if you come any closer, I’m gonna tear your throat out with my teeth !” Schuldig snarled.

It might have been the suddenly very clear glare, or the rasping voice, which was both impressive and very painful to listen to, or the way Schuldig managed to give the distinct impression that even huddled in his team leader’s arms, starved and weakened to the point that standing up on his own was definitely not an option right now, he would carry out his threat no matter the cost. Either that, or the officer’s two brain cells had finally connected and informed him that there was a witness that could report him should he trespass the limits of his functions. Whatever it was, it stopped the officer mid-move and avoided him serious injury.

However, his pride could not let the matter slide. Pride really was a wonderful emotion, Crawford thought. It made people do all sorts of stupid things.

“Mr. Crawford !” the officer hissed.

“Officer, since I do seem to have my hands quite full at the moment, I’d be grateful if you took the time to make sure that the papers I should have signed a week ago finally find their way to my office. I’m quite sure that they won’t get lost on the way if you deliver them personally.”

The officer gave a start.

“My schedule …”

Crawford smiled.

“We would not want another … ‘miscommunication problem’, would we … _officer_ ?”

“… No. Of course not,” the officer visibly fumed as he stormed out.

Crawford could hear the stomping all the way down the corridor. Stupid people were disgustingly predictable.

****

“Sorry about your suit.”

Crawford looked at his bloodied cuffs. He had used them to wipe the blood and some other fluids that were better left unnamed off Schuldig’s face, because they were the first things that he had available. The cream cloth was turning to black where the blood had dried.

“You’ll pay for the dry-cleaning.”

Schuldig laughed. Or tried to. He had to stop before the dry heaves started again.

“Are you kiddin’ me ? It’s gonna be cheaper to buy you a new one, you bastard !”

Crawford smiled absentmindedly as he gathered Schuldig in his arms and started to lift him up.

“Oh, I don’t think so !” Schuldig said. He wriggled enough that Crawford was forced to put him back down before he hurt himself. “It took ten of the fuckers to get me in here, Brad. I’m getting out on my own two feet.”

Crawford smirked. Pride.

“Oh. All right.”

He made for the door and opened it, but when he turned around, Schuldig was still sitting where he had left him on the floor, and if the shaking in his arms was any indication he wouldn’t be sitting for much longer.

“Are you coming ?” Crawford asked in the most innocent tone of voice he could muster.

Schuldig stared at him blankly.

“I am, but I sort of kinda need a hand, if you don’t mind …”

Crawford wisely refrained from gloating.

The trip down the corridor was very slow. The lights blinded Schuldig after a week spent in semi-darkness, even with his eyes come back to normal. Standing up was making him dizzy and nauseous again, and sheer exhaustion made him stop every two or three steps to catch his breath. Crawford was pretty sure that the only thing that kept the telepath upright was stubbornness. And pride. Let’s not forget pride, Crawford thought.

The front of the building was swarmed with people in white uniforms, and they had to stop next to the glass door to let two men pushing a stretcher pass. Crawford felt Schuldig tense up beside him, but he met the telepath’s glare with unimpressed eyes.

“Tell me you didn’t call the med team on me, Brad.”

“I didn’t call the med team on you.”

“Then what the hell are they doing here ?”

Crawford shrugged, and Schuldig winced at the sudden movement.

“I think our dear officer stepped in a puddle that was unfortunately deeper than it seemed and twisted his ankle. It might even be broken. Dear God, I’m never going to see those papers, let alone sign them !” Crawford sighed dramatically.

Schuldig blinked.

“You knew this would happen all along, did you ?”

“Of course.”

“And you didn’t warn him.”

“I thought I had. It’s not exactly my fault if he didn’t catch the hint, is it ?”

And no, it wasn’t revenge on Schuldig’s behalf. Crawford was sure that if he thought about it long enough, he could even manage to convince himself.

“Showoff,” Schuldig grumbled with a smile.


End file.
